


Danse des Marquises

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Abuse Apologism, Gen, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-28
Updated: 2012-12-28
Packaged: 2017-11-22 17:33:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/612409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"AG: I used to fantasize a8out 8eing someone really outgoing and dramatic.<br/>AG: Someone who had the confidence do whatever she wanted, like go on the most outrageous adventures without caring what anyone thought a8out her.<br/>AG: Like someone from a 8ook, you know?"</p><p>Vriska has Marquise Problems. And apparently, so does Aranea.</p><p>Or, In Which A Trip Through A Beforan Dreambubble By Two Light Players Proves Illuminating.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Danse des Marquises

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aloice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aloice/gifts).



"So this is Beforus, huh?" you ask conversationally, half-jogging up the velvet-covered stairs of what for all intents and purposes appears to be some kind of decked-out opera house. "I didn't expect it to be so, hmm. What's the word. Obnoxiously ostentatious?"

Your descendant-ancestor (dancestor?) is ahead of you on the stairs, your eyes just level with the spider-web-shaped points of her dress hem swishing around the backs of her knees. She's really booking it, she must be anxious to get through this dreambubble and rendezvous with Peixes the Greasier so that the three of you can get started on Take One-Thousand-and-Whatever of Cherub/Army/Treasurequest.

"Ostentatious when a sense of decorum demands for it, perhaps," Aranea replies amicably, not even out of breath as she practically sprints up the staircase. "This is, after all, an official Imperial building. A courthouse, in fact." She neatly scales the last few steps and continues onto the velvet covered walkway at the top without breaking her stride.

"A courthouse, eh?" You join her on the walkway a few steps behind, one hand on the gold-painted wood of the handrail at your side. You take a second to peer over it down to the floor below; you're a storey removed from what seems to be a swank-as-hell theatre. Frescos on the back wall and everything. "Looks a little fancy for something like that. What do they do if the blood gets all over the paintings?"

Aranea laughs gently into her hand as you trot to catch up to her. "You have to keep in mind, things were done very differently on Beforus as opposed to Alternia," she says over her shoulder, slowing to a walk as the two of you reach the spot where the catwalk ends, a doorway high in the theatre wall covered by a brocade curtain. She pushes the heavy cloth aside with a carefully-manicured hand. "I'm sorry to say that any trials or indictments this bubble may contain won't be anywhere near as exciting as what you're used to."

"Huh," you say noncommittally , distracted by a hangnail that catches on the curtain's embroidery when you reach to take it from her. "You'd think that with two Light players together we'd luck out and get something that isn't a boring shitty shortcut through velvety snooze land."

The curtain flaps closed behind you, and you and Aranea are standing against the back wall of a darkened balcony, just as pretentiously decorated as the rest of this place. There's a glow of warm light and a murmur of voices coming from whatever lies below and beyond the edge. Aranea gestures to it.

"Well, I wouldn't know about boring," she says, evenly as always. "Who knows what kinds of colourful figures could be present at an authentic historical Beforan trial!" She turns to you smiling, her milky eyes knowing. "Maybe we should count ourselves lucky after all!"

You roll your own blanked-out oculars at her condescension -- you know she's just excited she might get the chance to explain shit to you -- and walk over to the edge of the balcony to investigate further.

It's an authentic historical Beforan trial, all right. The theatre below is similar to the one you just passed through, choked with more intricate paintings and swaths of random fabric than anyone could ever want or need. You can't believe this is supposed to look formal or serious; it looks like something _your_ Peixes would make as a craft project -- which you guess is exactly what it is, this being an Imperial facility from an alternate universe and all. The gaudy decor is all the more offensive to your eyes under the theatre's strong lighting, but at least the crowd of trolls packed wall to wall obscures some of it from view.

You prop your elbows on the balcony's railing and let your gaze wander to where the throng of people seems to be flocking, the raised dais set with several tables at the front of the room. A bunch of adult trolls in froofy period dress are milling about there, assumedly waiting for whatever proceedings to get started. Aranea was right, Beforan trials really must be dull as sin, because there doesn't even seem to be any sort of Honorable Tyranny-like figure presiding; the person behind the judge's podium is just a boring normal troll. Unbelievable.

"Ah," comes Aranea's strained voice from beside you. "This choice of bubble may end up being rather regrettable after all." You start, surprised on two counts -- you hadn't noticed her move up to the balcony's railing, but you can also count on one hand the number of times you've heard her actually talk to you with anything other than patronizing friendliness. You raise an eyebrow and follow her line of sight, but this is Aranea, so you don't really have to work too hard to figure out why she sounds so uncomfortable before she elaborates.

"Look at the prosecutor's bench," she says, back to her Exposition Voice. "See anyone familiar?"

You do look, but all you see are a bunch of frumps in lacy petticoats. "Not particularly?"

You think you hear Aranea heave a very small sigh before she says very carefully, "I believe we are about to witness a trial involving one Marquise Vriska 'Arachnia Venomeye' Serket."

And well, now, _that_ is interesting. "My Beforan self, huh?" You try and fail to not sound excited, goddamn. Gotta play this cool. "You don't happen to know anything about her, do you? Not that I feel like signing myself up for her whole life story." You see her now, in a black and blue tailored coat with hair for nautical miles. She's got her back turned to you, so you can't see her face, and more importantly, you can't see her feet either -- she'd better _hope_ her shoes are red, or you're officially disowning her as a member of your collective identity.

"She's. Well." And wow, Aranea still sounds hells to the stressed. You're _really_ curious about this Marquise Venomeye now. "She's quite something! She was a bit of a hero in her time, you see."

Out of all possible outcomes, you sure didn't see that one coming. "A _hero?_ " You try not to sound too impressed. "Huh. Well, well! I guess every Vriska in every universe has got her shit together, hahahaha." Your heart is beating way too fast, this is embarrassing. So what if Beforan Vriska is a hero! That's just to be expected. You're a big deal and every iteration of paradox space had better get out of your goddamn way.

"Well. Yes!" You still wonder why Aranea is so worked up about this, though. The bridge of her nose is even all pinched. "She might not be entirely what you're expecting, however. The Marquise is--" She cuts herself off as the aggressive brightness of the courtroom below begins to dim. "Well, I suppose you'll see! The trial is starting, haha..."

It's not like Aranea to trail off with a nervous laugh, either. You couldn't possibly be more intrigued if you tried. Fidgety, you change your stance and grip the balcony railing with both hands, and try not to white-knuckle. The hubbub of the crowd's conversation is dying down, too. You, like every other dreamghost in the theatre, direct your attention to centre stage.

When silence finally falls, the judge-troll clears her throat.

"Good evening, everyone," she calls out. "As you all know, we are gathered here today to discuss Case #11037 of the Imperial Tax Inspection Bureau, the Counterfeit Sopor Slime Affair. Presiding over this case is Tax Investigator in Chief, the good lady Marquise Arachnia Venomeye. I will now concede the floor to her. Lady Venomeye?"

"Thank you, Your Honour!" you own voice rises brazenly over the heads of the crowd as the long-haired troll in the tailored coat strides purposely from the prosecution bench to centre stage. The rhythmic click of her heels against the hardwood is quickly drowned out by a wave of rousing, raucous applause from the audience. On the stage, the Marquise Venomeye grins rakishly, and tries to wave them down, but they just keep cheering. The wall of sound swells and breaks around you like a wave. You don't understand.

And suddenly, all at once, the dreambubble -- as dreambubbles are wont to do -- cuts out. The cheering ends mid note. The crowd of ghosts is gone. The theatre below is empty.

There is a moment of complete, stunned silence.

Her high-heels were definitely red.

You laugh.

You laugh, and laugh, and laugh. You don't know what to say.

"A Tax Inviscerator? How lame is that?" This isn't acceptable. You're Vriska fucking Serket!

At the same time, there's a pit of weird energy at the bottom of your stomach that you don't particularly want to examine. Are you excited? Relieved? ... Happy...? That's ridiculous. Venomeye was a boring government worker, there's no way that you can be okay with this.

And yet, all those people clapped for her.

"Ha!" you say finally, sagging against the balcony railing. "Well. It could be worse, I guess!" You grin over at Aranea. "She was a badass Tax Inviscerator, at least! And Beforus is Planet Dullsville anyway. I guess I can live with that."

Aranea lets out a breath, along with what looks like enough tension to invent spring-powered space travel. Apparently she was really invested in how you were gonna take this. Her normal appeasing smile is back on her face quickly. "I'm glad to hear that! It's important to be able to accept other facets of ourselves that came to be under different circumstances, after all. It's very healthy, mentally speaking!" She clasps her hands and beams with her eyes closed like some schoolgirl out of the hallowed pages of a Troll Shoujo. "We can't all be Mindfang, after all! Haha."

And wait, back the _fuck_ up.

"Um, yeah!" you say, still grinning but with eyebrows hells of quirked. "I guess it turns out not everybody can grow up to murder millions without remorse and get all skeevy up on alternate versions of their ex-girlfriends. Better luck next time, Venomeye!" You try to keep the hard edge out of the laugh that follows, but welp, there it is.

She seems to have missed it completely, though. "Well," she says, waving her hand dismissively like she's got all the nerve in the _world_ , "Mindfang was a product of her time. And it's quite regrettable how her adventures ended up falling neatly in line with the dastardly schemes of the Lord of Time's various co-conspirators. Hindsight is indeed twenty-twenty, as they say! All we can say about it now is that her life makes for quite the interesting tale, haha."

"Oh, interesting, _suuuure_ ," you drawl out, and wow, you had been doing _so well_ at getting along with your dancestor. She really isn't a bad girl! A little dorky, sure, but overall pretty inoffensive.

Except for when she starts fucking talking about Mindfang.

Aranea's not even done.

"It is indeed!" she replies, friendly and unbothered as ever. "You know, it's quite a coincidence that we ended up running into a memory of Marquise Venomeye today! She was a bit of a childhood inspiration to me, if I may confess. I always found it really admirable that she was able to make a name for herself like that, even if it was in something as tame as the tax inspection business. I always knew that someone like me would never amount to anything like that, let alone more, hahahaha."

"More?" you ask, tone surpassing mock-interested and landing on shrill. You have to move, you have to do _something_. You push yourself away from the railing and walk past her, not looking at her.

Still she doesn't notice. Girl can't read an atmosphere to save her _life_.

"Haha, well, yes!" She continues, turning around to face you in your new position and taking your place leaning against the railing, crossing her ankles a little sheepishly. "I always had dreams of being someone... someone who went on grand adventures, you see. Someone rather like Marquise Mindfang, I suppose! But I always knew that someone like me -- someone who was too meek and mild to even aspire to the heights of Marquise Venomeye, for example -- would never end up chasing those dreams, haha."

You can't. Take this anymore. "Mmm. I get you. You know, I aspired to be like Mindfang, too!" Why why _why_ are you still being fake-polite she isn't getting it at all you want to _strangle her_. "And I've gotta say, I did it with a lot more success than you! And you wanna know what? It turned out to be a really great eight-step plan for killing your friends and alienating people!!! Who would have thought!!!!" And oh, you're pretty sure Aranea gets the danger, now. She's not smiling any more.

"I... I will admit." Ohhh, she'd _better_ be choosing her words carefully. "I will admit that some of Mindfang's methods were rather... crass. And not exactly. Ideal methods for which to replicate." Okay, progress. "But Alternian culture was quite a deeply flawed, albeit fascinating, mire for such a historical figure to be steeped in..." Aaaand you're back to where you started. "So I believe the topic is altogether rather subjective." You literally _killed and ruined your friends to be like this unrepentant fucking murderess the least thing her goddamn smug-ass alt-universe self can do is fucking OWN UP TO IT._

"And let me guess," you say at last, your voice calm and deadly-cold. "In comparison, as far as role models go, Venomeye is a little, what's the word, oh... boring?"

"Haha, well!" she says, patronizing, patronizing, patronizing again. She's about to try and make nice, you can see it in her face. And the other thing you can see in her face is her fucking hubris. Yeah, she thinks Venomeye is boring. But she's not gonna say so outright, because she thinks she's so much better than you. _Mindfang_ thinks she's so much better than you.

She's about to start talking again, but nope. You're done. Something inside you snaps.

" _You.... YOU!!!!!!!!_ " you splutter out. "I cannot f-fucking _believe you!!!!!!!!_ " And now apparently you're about to cry? Oh fucking well, it feels like some sort of horrific Fiduspawn-esque abomination-beast is trying to claw its way out from your chest anyway; your rage will not be dignified.

"Are you stupid???? Or just sociopathic????????" you screech, brandishing a finger at a silently saucer-eyed Aranea. "I threw away everything to be like Mindfang!! I killed my friends, ruined their lives, ruined my life!!!! And for what!!! _Nothing!!!!_ I thought Mindfang was hot shit, but she was terrible!!!! _Terrible!!!! REPREHENSIBLE!!!!_ And you know what???? Because of her, because of _you!!!!_ _I was reprehensible, too!!!!_ "

You've been slowly encroaching on Aranea this whole time, to the point where you're basically standing toe to toe against the balcony railing. You're face to face, too, and as far as faces go, hers looks completely terrified. Good. You're terrified too.

"Am," you belatedly amend, voice hoarse from screeching. "Am terrible." You wish you could keep on screaming in her face, but you don't want to start full-on sobbing and risk not being able to talk, so you just hiss viciously. "And you're fucking terrible, too. So don't you _give me shit_ about maybe thinking that being a boring fucking hero who gets applauded in public is maybe somewhat desirable."

She opens her mouth, to defend herself, to admit defeat, to offer platitudes, you don't know. But you do know that you're completely done with hearing her talking, talking, talking. So you clap your hands over her mouth.

Just a little too forcefully.

And ohh, god, someone in authentic historical Beforus should have enforced safety regulations for balcony railings or _something_ , because suddenly Aranea goes over and you go over Aranea, blood is rushing to your head, down is up, up is down, you're spinning and spinning and toppling and ohhh god the floor is _an entire storey down_. You grapple for Aranea but you can't get a grip. You can't believe your final act in the afterlife before expiring an incredibly idiotic double-death is going to have been airing all your stupid ancestor garbage at a longwinded teen version of the ancestor in question herself in the most embarrassing and painful way possible.

You realize about a split second before you expect to hit the ground that Aranea, unlike you, has managed to remember that dreambubble zombie ghosts do in fact possess the power of flight, and has been gently slowing your freefall so that, despite your flailing dead weight, the two of you eventually alight, unharmed, on the pretentious rosewood floor.

There are a few seconds of silence as you sit there in a tangled heap, you on your back and Aranea mostly lying on top of you. You're pretty sure your overshirt is caught on her horns.

And then someone starts laughing. It's a tired, hysterical sounding laugh, and it's echoing all through the theatre's obnoxious vaulted ceilings, and it takes you more than a moment to realize that it's coming from you.

"Oh god," you say when you're done, drained and relieved and feeling more than a little like a dumbass, and Aranea presses her face into your shoulder, whether to hide tears or embarrassment, you don't know. "That sure was a thing."

"I'm sorry," comes her muffled voice, and good, she sounds chagrinned, you're not sure how you would have handled it if you had made her cry.

"And I'm sorry for pushing you off the balcony!" you say, patting her on the back in what you hope is a friendly and comforting manner that conveys your forgiveness. "In my defense, it really was an actual-facts, honest-to-goodness accident." You're not saying sorry for the things you said though, nope. No way.

She chuckles a little bit, finally raising her face from the fabric of your shirt, and _goddamn_ ugh there are beads of translucent cerulean gumming up her mascara after all, it's all smeared over the inside of her glasses. Luckily she pushes them aside and wipes the mess on the back of her hand quickly. Yet another entry on the list of things that have happened "luckily" today.

"I guess," she says a last, voice only a little bit shaky. "Both of us are pretty awful, aren't we."

You snort. "You're just cottoning on to this now? Get with the program, Marquise."

She giggles, and puts her head back down, resting her forehead against your collarbone this time. "We both got the logical extremes of what we wanted, didn't we?" she says into your shirt. "Devoid of the logical extreme of the other. Adventure without altruism, altruism without adventure."

"That's surprisingly succinct, for you," you say, and she laughs again. You reach up to try to untangle your clothes from her horns a little. "Don't forget the part where we both fucked ourselves up over those all-or-nothing versions of each other, that's an important piece of context for the overall narrative. Worldbuilding, you know."

Horns finally free, Aranea sits up and smiles at you through her ruined makeup, and if you were a betting girl (you are), you'd swear that it was the first actually genuine smile that she's ever given you.

"It's really too bad we're dead," she says as she crawls off you, "This would be the perfect opportunity to grow and change as people. Seize and shape our own futures, and all that. You know how the conventions go." She slowly clambers to her feet, dusts her dress off judiciously, and offers you a hand.

You take it. "Eh, you never know!" you say as she pulls you up. "I don't know about you, but I'm not about to let go of my personal narrative relevance yet. I've got places to go, things to do! Dreambubbles schreambubbles, am I right?"

With you on your feet, she lets go of your hand, and reaches up to adjust the collar of your disarranged overshirt. You've never noticed before; she's a bit shorter than you.

"You are right! And that reminds me." Fussing done, she looks you in the eye. "We still have to meet up with Meenah to continue our quest! This quandary we're in won't solve itself, you know."

You grin your best cavalier badass grin. "Hell yes, I know! Just you wait! They'll be telling stories for eons about how the legendary Vriska Serket got them out of this fucking mess."

Aranea grins as well. "And when everything is said and done, I'll be there at the end to tell the tale."

"Well, then? What are we waiting for!" You turn on your heel, and take off towards what looks like the theatre door. Aranea is close behind, chasing you through the bubble as you chased her before.

You make sure to at least double the pace she had set before. After all, there's no time to waste.

You've got the end of a story to write. Two of them, in fact.


End file.
